They didn't know when
by Scarlet Scully
Summary: She didn't know when and he didn't know when, but one day they both realized there was something more between them. WillKate oneshot, maybe more.


_A/N: I don't own anything, especially not the rights to A Knight's Tale or it's characters. Special thanks to the powers-that-be that decided to bring this story to our world. Please take this as the tribute that it was meant to be._

_Summary: She didn't know when and he didn't know when, but one day they both realized there was something more between them. Will-Kate one-shot, or maybe more. Just something that came to me after seeing the movie again._

They didn't know when…

She wasn't sure when she had become obsessed with the colour of his eyes. And she really wasn't sure when she started to spend her waking moments wondering on their changing tones; debating internally whether they were grey or green or brown. She wasn't sure when she started to spend her waking moments trying to catalogue the moods that dictated their colour. When her hopes had started to include hoping that one day she would gaze in his grey/green depths and find them reflecting the emotion that she knew was reflected in hers.

He wasn't sure when she had started to become the focus of his thoughts. And he really wasn't sure why couldn't he make himself do something about it. He had been so brazen in his pursuit of Jocelyn. Brazen and cocky and self-assured. Well, not really self-assured, but he hadn't really worried that she might turn her back to him and ignore him for the rest of his life. He hadn't had anything to lose. With Kate, he risked so much more. It was true that his ego had been on the line in his flagrant pursuit of Princess Jocelyn, but his ego was strong and could easily rebound from a sound beating. With Kate, were he to make his feelings known, he risked something more precious than his ego; he risked her friendship. And he wasn't sure he was willing to take that risk.

She didn't know when she had become obsessed with the warmth of his voice. How, at times, its tone vibrated within her core. She couldn't quite evoke the timbre that gave rise to the butterflies in her stomach, but she strived to achieve her goal every day. This obsession concerned her and she couldn't remember when it began. She remembered when she had first started lusting after him. Lust was a completely different emotion and lust was okay. It had begun almost the very instant she had met him - after she had gotten over her outrage at being considered inferior because of her sex. She recognized lust and the feelings it dealt within her and knew she wasn't alone in that lust. She knew there were many women who saw, as she did, that he was beautiful and tall and moved with an inherent grace that spoke of abilities she shouldn't be thinking about. His wild blonde hair demanded she run her fingers through it - to straighten it or to see if it could possibly get any more dishevelled. He lived his life with so much passion and enthusiasm that her breath caught when she imagined being at the center of such intense energy. But that was lust and had nothing to do with the colour of his eyes or the sound of his voice. Her interest in those things hadn't begun right away. She couldn't remember when, but she knew it was later.

Maybe it was when he had started to show an interest in her work. When he started to spend the odd evening in her make-shift forge, helping her, stoking the flames in more ways than one. Maybe it was as he listened to her explain how to shape the metal and to strengthen it and how he seemed interested in what she actually was saying, rather than amusing himself at her expense. Maybe it was when she would find him watching her eyes instead of her hands, and the scent of their sweat would mingle intoxicatingly as they worked side by side. Then she would imagine, vividly, all of the other activities they could be doing together that would cause their sweat to mingle. That may have more to do with lust, but it occupied her thoughts just the same.

He didn't know when his feelings for Jocelyn had begun to fade. At some point, he had recognized the pity she offered him and started to despise it. And once he recognized the pity, he realized that there was little else she did offer. Lust and pity. He had thought she offered kindness, but once he was able to hold his own on the field and at the stately banquets, she stopped being kind. At some point, he realized that she had only offered those little acts of kindness - like rescuing him during his horrid dance - to make herself feel better about herself. And she seemed to resent him as he failed to offer her more opportunities to feel better. Demeaning and condescending. That's how she made him feel.

Maybe it was when he recognized the help she gave him as frivolous at best. She helped him move higher from his highest point. It was like he had struggled to pull an over-full bucket to the top of the well and she came to assist him with the last turn of the handle. It was true that she had helped, making the last part of the battle easier, but it was also true that left alone, he knew would have succeeded anyway. What he didn't know was if his hands were to slip and the bucket were to fall back to the bottom of the well, would she be there to help him start the lifting all over again. On the other hand, he knew that Kate would be there, from beginning to end and back to the beginning again.

These thoughts of Will occupied her mind as she sat gazing at the dying fire. The object of her thoughts sat quietly beside her and an uncomfortable silence stretched between them. The five members of their little group had been chatting the pleasant evening away, but the night grew quieter as, one-by-one, the others had taken to their bedrolls. That was when the silence had begun and now nearly an hour had passed. An hour of silence and she didn't know how to break it, but did know that she was loathe to go. She would rather sit beside him in awkward silence than lie alone in the darkness, full of hope yet starting to fear that she was hopeless. As her thoughts turned darker, she dipped her head lower, using her hair to shield her face, hiding the tears that had suddenly welled in her eyes.

He knew that he wanted Kate, but he didn't know how to tell her. He sat in silence beside her, searching his mind for the words that he needed to speak. He had been so confident in his pursuit of Jocelyn, but hesitant in his quest for Kate. It had been an air - his confidence - an act that he had put on, but Kate knew him and he knew her and he knew there could be no airs between them. He didn't know how she felt about him. He didn't know if he had the courage to find out. He did know that she cared for him; they had all grown to care for each other. But he wanted - no, he needed - for her to feel more. He turned to face the object of his thoughts to find her slumped forward, her long raven locks concealing her face from him.

"Kate," his voice hummed with the emotions of his thoughts. "You're tired. You should get some sleep."

She nodded her head silently, but her hair continued to shield her face. Her soft sniffle was the only sound to break the quiet of the night.

"Kate, are you…?" He couldn't ask if she was crying; he had never seen her in tears. Instead, he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, exposing the evidence of her tears to the firelight. His hand still near her face, he reached out to brush them away. She moved abruptly at his touch, straightening and attempting to brush away both his hand and her tears. Under her breath, she muttered something that sounded like either "I'm sorry" or "I'm fine". Sensing her about to stand and leave, he moved quickly to kneel before her, holding both of her hands in his. Trapped, she surrendered but still hid her eyes from him.

"Please, Kate, tell me what's wrong." She shook her head in silent refusal. "I hate to see you hurting. Just tell me. Maybe speaking of it will make it seem better." She stopped shaking her head, but continued to stare at the ground mutely. "Please, Kate, if you'll not speak of it, at least tell me what I can do to make it better. I'll not see you like this. I care too much about you to not do something about it."

She slowly raised her watery eyes, searching his for something other than the concern she found there. "Tis nothing, Will. Silly. Tears of a foolish girl. Sometimes I think ye forget that I am a woman, too."

The corners of her mouth turned up in the ghost of a smile and he released her hand to return to his earlier mission, brushing the pad of his thumb at the tears on her cheek. This time she didn't try to move away from his touch.

"Oh, Kate, I could never forget that you are a woman. A foolish girl," he smiled. "Now that is something I know that you could never be. But, a woman…"

His eyes had held hers, but now closed as he brushed his lips against the tracks of her tears. He opened his eyes to find hers closed, her lips slightly parted. He needed no further invitation nor consideration nor fortification of his courage. Cupping her face in his hands, he met his lips with hers, tasting her in a thorough, but gentle kiss. They both parted, breathless, eyes searching for the reassurance that they had not made a mistake. He smiled then and rose and moved to his bed.

She continued to stargaze long after his breathing had evened with sleep. Her eyes searched the darkness, alone, her mind filled with dreams. For the first time in a long time, she looked to the man who slept just a few feet away and believed that she wasn't hopeless. That maybe, for them, there was still hope, yet.

_Finis. Please read and review. Scarlet_.


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